


Yes

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Says Yes, M/M, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean says yes. It's nothing like he expects.





	Yes

Dean expected it to hurt.

The way Jimmy had talked about Castiel—the whole chained-to-a-comet thing—it festered in the back of his mind, in that shadowed place that wouldn’t stop thinking yes, yes, _yes. _As that part of him grew, so did the wondering. Would it burn? Would he scream as he was hollowed out, his mind and soul shoved into some corner to be forgotten? Would he even be aware of what was happening around him?

He said yes… and what happened next made no sense.

It felt _good._

Michael’s grace didn’t burn. It didn’t even flow into him all at once. It eased inside, so slowly that it should have been frustrating, but it wasn’t. There was warmth, and the strangest sense of a hand reaching out, and Dean found himself taking it with far less hesitation than he’d been expecting. He hardly noticed when he lost control of his own body because he wasn’t shoved into a corner, or burned out—he was still _there, _he could still see and feel and think, except he was wrapped up carefully in so much warm, glowing light, he wasn’t responsible anymore, he was… safe.

Dean hadn’t felt safe since he was four years old.

“Shh.” Dean could feel his lips and tongue shaping the sound, but was so incredibly aware that it was _Michael _speaking. “How does it feel?”

“It’s…” Dean started, eyes widening, he was still in control? But no, he could feel Michael right there, all that grace around him, sheltering him, yet he was still able to speak. “How am I talking right now?”

Michael laughed softly, and Dean felt the shift of control like a ripple, just the softest roll of sensation as they traded the body back and forth. “We’re sharing. I’ll have to take full control when we fight Lucifer, but for now there’s no reason you can’t be here with me.”

There was something about the way he said it, something warmer even than the light pouring off his grace. It made Dean shudder, made him want to burrow straight down into that warmth and never come up for air again.

“But I won’t be for here for the fight?”

Michael lifted one hand and stroked it over Dean’s cheek. It should have been weird, really weird, but somehow it just felt nice. “You’ll be there. You’ll be fully aware of what’s happening, you just won’t be able to come out like you can now. It’s safer for you that way. I won’t let Lucifer hurt you.”

It was usually so damn easy to assume the angels were lying, to let the words roll away like so much pointless sound. But with Michael as a part of him, Dean knew without a doubt that the archangel meant every word. He could feel it in the grace, no longer just surrounding him but melting into him. Dean groaned aloud and heard Michael’s gentle laughter almost in the same breath—what the hell _was this?_

“What’re you doing?” Dean gasped.

Michael’s grace began to shift, a kind of rocking motion that made Dean think giddily of sex. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Michael breathed. “If it doesn’t I’ll stop.”

Dean swore under his breath. If Michael had pushed it he might have found the will to stop him, but he was right. It was intimate in a way Dean had never experienced, every single part of him bared to the angel, and every part of the angel bared for Dean. He could feel Michael’s joy at finally being one with Dean, the pleasure of grace and soul mingling, the terror and breathtaking sadness directed at Lucifer, and something else, something huge and so warm that Dean shied away from it.

“Shh,” Michael whispered. “It’s okay. Here.”

incredibly aware that it was _Michael _speaking. “How does it feel?”

“It’s…” Dean started, eyes widening, he was still in control? But no, he could feel Michael right there, all that grace around him, sheltering him, yet he was still able to speak. “How am I talking right now?”

Michael laughed softly, and Dean felt the shift of control like a ripple, just the softest roll of sensation as they traded the body back and forth. “We’re sharing. I’ll have to take full control when we fight Lucifer, but for now there’s no reason you can’t be here with me.”

There was something about the way he said it, something warmer even than the light pouring off his grace. It made Dean shudder, made him want to burrow straight down into that warmth and never come up for air again.

“But I won’t be for here for the fight?”

Michael lifted one hand and stroked it over Dean’s cheek. It should have been weird, really weird, but somehow it just felt nice. “You’ll be there. You’ll be fully aware of what’s happening, you just won’t be able to come out like you can now. It’s safer for you that way. I won’t let Lucifer hurt you.”

It was usually so damn easy to assume the angels were lying, to let the words roll away like so much pointless sound. But with Michael as a part of him, Dean knew without a doubt that the archangel meant every word. He could feel it in the grace, no longer just surrounding him but melting into him. Dean groaned aloud and heard Michael’s gentle laughter almost in the same breath—what the hell _was this?_

“What’re you doing?” Dean gasped.

Michael’s grace began to shift, a kind of rocking motion that made Dean think giddily of sex. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Michael breathed. “If it doesn’t I’ll stop.”

Dean swore under his breath. If Michael had pushed it he might have found the will to stop him, but he was right. It was intimate in a way Dean had never experienced, every single part of him bared to the angel, and every part of the angel bared for Dean. He could feel Michael’s joy at finally being one with Dean, the pleasure of grace and soul mingling, the terror and breathtaking sadness directed at Lucifer, and something else, something huge and so warm that Dean shied away from it.

“Shh,” Michael whispered. “It’s okay. Here.”

Gently, Michael nudged Dean towards that warmth. Distantly, he was aware of Michael wrapping his arms around him—around _them—_and almost laughed at the thought of someone walking into the dingy motel room he’d chosen to find a guy standing there hugging himself.

Then he was surrounded in the warmth, melding with it, understanding it. He’d never longed for anything so much in his life, or tried to run away so fast.

“No,” Michael said, quiet and firm. “Dean, no. It’s yours, and you will take it.”

“You can’t…” Dean shook his head and then his own hands were cupping his cheeks, running up into his hair, just as soothing as it was bizarre.

“I can,” Michael assured him. “Of course I love you. You were quite literally made for me, how could I not love you?”

Dean lost himself then, lost himself because he could, because he was safe, swept up and cradled and _loved. _

He knew without a doubt that he was lost when, for just a moment, he let himself think that if this was how Lucifer felt about Sam, he couldn’t even blame Sam if he said yes… and he didn’t hate himself for thinking it.

incredibly aware that it was _Michael _speaking. “How does it feel?”

“It’s…” Dean started, eyes widening, he was still in control? But no, he could feel Michael right there, all that grace around him, sheltering him, yet he was still able to speak. “How am I talking right now?”

Michael laughed softly, and Dean felt the shift of control like a ripple, just the softest roll of sensation as they traded the body back and forth. “We’re sharing. I’ll have to take full control when we fight Lucifer, but for now there’s no reason you can’t be here with me.”

There was something about the way he said it, something warmer even than the light pouring off his grace. It made Dean shudder, made him want to burrow straight down into that warmth and never come up for air again.

“But I won’t be for here for the fight?”

Michael lifted one hand and stroked it over Dean’s cheek. It should have been weird, really weird, but somehow it just felt nice. “You’ll be there. You’ll be fully aware of what’s happening, you just won’t be able to come out like you can now. It’s safer for you that way. I won’t let Lucifer hurt you.”

It was usually so damn easy to assume the angels were lying, to let the words roll away like so much pointless sound. But with Michael as a part of him, Dean knew without a doubt that the archangel meant every word. He could feel it in the grace, no longer just surrounding him but melting into him. Dean groaned aloud and heard Michael’s gentle laughter almost in the same breath—what the hell _was this?_

“What’re you doing?” Dean gasped.

Michael’s grace began to shift, a kind of rocking motion that made Dean think giddily of sex. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Michael breathed. “If it doesn’t I’ll stop.”

Dean swore under his breath. If Michael had pushed it he might have found the will to stop him, but he was right. It was intimate in a way Dean had never experienced, every single part of him bared to the angel, and every part of the angel bared for Dean. He could feel Michael’s joy at finally being one with Dean, the pleasure of grace and soul mingling, the terror and breathtaking sadness directed at Lucifer, and something else, something huge and so warm that Dean shied away from it.

“Shh,” Michael whispered. “It’s okay. Here.”

Gently, Michael nudged Dean towards that warmth. Distantly, he was aware of Michael wrapping his arms around him—around _them—_and almost laughed at the thought of someone walking into the dingy motel room he’d chosen to find a guy standing there hugging himself.

Then he was surrounded in the warmth, melding with it, understanding it. He’d never longed for anything so much in his life, or tried to run away so fast.

“No,” Michael said, quiet and firm. “Dean, no. It’s yours, and you will take it.”

“You can’t…” Dean shook his head and then his own hands were cupping his cheeks, running up into his hair, just as soothing as it was bizarre.

“I can,” Michael assured him. “Of course I love you. You were quite literally made for me, how could I not love you?”

Dean lost himself then, lost himself because he could, because he was safe, swept up and cradled and _loved. _

He knew without a doubt that he was lost when, for just a moment, he let himself think that if this was how Lucifer felt about Sam, he couldn’t even blame Sam if he said yes… and he didn’t hate himself for thinking it.

When he tried to hate himself for not hating himself, Michael shushed him a third time and whispered that he loved him.

And maybe Dean loved him back, just a little, when the words actually comforted him.

~

END


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